


The Long and Short of Public Speaking (or: You're Doing It Wrong)

by pyrrhical (anoyo)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: At Least It Tried, F/M, I have no idea, pwp?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2018-10-09 23:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10424529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoyo/pseuds/pyrrhical
Summary: Following the defeat of Voldemort, Harry couldn't say that he was surprised that he rose once again in fame and popularity.  What did surprise him, however, was that now that he was old enough to fight for himself, people expected things from him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written 1/18/10 for Wizard Love 2010.
> 
> I did weird crap in high school and college.

Following the defeat of Voldemort, Harry couldn't say that he was surprised that he rose once again in fame and popularity. What did surprise him, however, was that now that he was old enough to fight for himself, people expected things from him.

It was a bit disconcerting. Among these things were public appearances, speeches, and high-profile gatherings. Harry had once joked that he had apparently become a movie star, if the paparazzi were anything to go by. Only Hermione had gotten it. Harry had given up.

The long and short of it was that Harry received about fifteen requests for public appearances every week, and he'd had to hire a personal assistant just to keep them all straight. His assistant, who was old, male, and straight, at Ginny's blackmailing order -- and Harry knew he'd married her for a _reason_ , even if sometimes that reason bit him in the ass, too -- got to sort through them all, politely accept or decline in Harry's place, making sure that Harry didn't get over- or double-booked, and make sure that Harry showed up on time and in the correct attire.

After the first speech, Harry had learned something else about fame: no matter how much people owe you (even if it's their freedom and lives), if you can't give a good speech, they are going to give you horribly disdaining looks and the tabloids are going to make you look like a ponce. Harry had been forced to take a class on public speaking. It had been mortifying, and Ron had made fun of him for the ten minutes it took Hermione to realize it would be a great idea if they _all_ took it, since the rest of the Order had started to receive requests for speaking, as well. The scathing look Ron had given him had been worth the glee Harry had felt when Hermione had winked at him. Friends were _great_.

Eventually, however, the glamour of the whole thing wore off. There were only so many speeches Harry could give on the bravery of his peers before there stopped being ceremonies _for_ that bravery. His limit for scintillating speeches on things that had nothing to do with Voldemort? One. After that one, Harry did them because they paid really well and Ginny liked to get dressed up and see what sort of public sex they could pull off before Harry had to give his speech.

 _That_ , Harry wasn't going to argue with. They'd discovered this particular kink when Harry had been asked to give a congratulatory speech to the Brighton Astrological Society, who had discovered a star that seemed to give added light to _Lumos_ spells when thought about while the spell was being cast. (Harry thought it was a load of crap, but then the witch who'd made the discovery told him he just wasn't thinking about it correctly, and Ginny'd teased him for _doing it wrong_ for the next week.) Harry had given his speech and got into his argument with the witch, whose name might have been Belinda or Batshit Crazy Woman -- he was pants at names -- before he and Ginny had got into their back-and-forth about doing it wrong.

"I most certainly am not," Harry had said, pointing at Ginny with his steak knife, which he was still holding simply to have something with which to gesture, as he'd inhaled his steak nearly an hour previous to their conversation.

Ginny had rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, making her dress do something interesting with her cleavage which, really, Harry thought all dresses were designed to do, just so men could never accomplish anything while women were wearing them. Tricky bastards. "Of course you are, weren't you listening to Bathilda? You have to picture the comet while you perform the spell."

"That's what I was doing, and Bernilda said it was a star, not a comet," Harry had said, scoffing.

"Which is why you're just _doing it wrong_ , Harry," Ginny had replied, smiling sweetly at him over her wine.

Harry had scowled and put down his knife to cross his own arms at his wife, wondering why he felt like he was losing this argument, even though he knew it had been a star, not a comet, because how would a _comet_ help anything? "Oh, I'll show you 'doing it wrong'," he had said, decidedly neither pouting nor slouching, as grown men who had saved the world didn't Do Such Things.

The sex in the loo had been _excellent_ , even if Harry had never completely figured out how they had wound up there. At least Ginny had conceded that no one was doing anything wrong _there_ , at any rate.

After that, it had become a sort of unspoken tradition, which had led them to where they were now, Ginny with one hand wrapped in Harry's nice silk tie, hopelessly wrinkling it, and her legs around his waist, held in place by one of Harry's arms looped around her waist and the other slipped down the back of her dress, pressing her against him, making out behind the Ritz London like a pair of exam students. What made matters worse was that, this time, they'd made some pretty poor decisions.

First, it was raining. Nice clothes outdoors in the rain generally didn't last very long, dry cleaning expenses paid or not. Harry liked Ginny's dress: it was short, but classy, and incredibly easy to slip on and off. Being ruined by the rain was not a fate that it had earned. Alas, another poor soul lost to the greater good.

Second, they'd mixed the chronology up a little bit.

Harry groaned a bit as he could hear, echoing oddly out the door they'd propped open for this very reason, the introductory speaker beginning to give Harry's credentials as the main speaker for the evening. "I think that's me," he grumbled, making no motion to put Ginny down.

Ginny snickered. "Last I checked. Sorry." She glanced back at the door. "Any chance we can just run away?"

"I bloody wish," Harry said, helping Ginny to the ground and patting his pockets for his note cards, cursing when he pulled them out to realize they were drenched. "Think they'll notice the soaked bit?"

"Oh, no, not at all." Ginny reached up to ruffle Harry's hair, obviously having decided it was a lost cause. "You look just peaches," she said, smirking.

Harry leaned down to kiss her one last time before he had to give his speech, but Ginny ducked out of the way, grinning. "Get back here," Harry laughed, waving with his wet, almost illegible note cards. "If I'm going up there like this, at least let it be a _good_ last memory. You know, before Hermione finds out and we never, ever go anywhere without an escort, ever again."

Ginny rolled her eyes, but danced further down the hall. "Not a chance!" she laughed. "You give your speech, and when you're done, I'll be in the loo." She paused and seemed to consider, then added, "Well, if you get done fast enough, I might still be in the loo." 

That said, she dashed the rest of the way down the hall and out of sight, leaving Harry to a horrible (wonderful) mental picture, his speech, and a shout of, "Unfair!"


End file.
